


Shooting stars are heartbreak, not beauty

by CosimaHellahaus



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Gen, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosimaHellahaus/pseuds/CosimaHellahaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She goes after the sword. It kills her body. It saves her soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shooting stars are heartbreak, not beauty

**Author's Note:**

> *dephine cormier voice* i am SO sorry.  
> not beta'd. no clear idea of what this is, if you find out please illuminate me as well

She goes after the sword. It kills her body. It saves her soul.

 

She knows all she’d ever get to be for Laura is her favorite worst nightmare. If she’s lucky.

She knows a goodbye when she hears one, so many have left her lips they started feeling like home. A sense of cruel stability, the only reoccurring factor in her unlife, as she mouths them in bloody necks or sweaty ears, to dull from the high given with generosity by Carmilla’s fingers to understand what it means.

She knows a goodbye when she hears one, and _go run and hide; we’re done_ tastes too much like home to ignore it.

She is, she’s done, she’s going down. But God save her, she’s taking Mother with her, even if it’s the last thing she does.

 

She goes after the sword. It’s a long way down, long enough to go through every single moment of peace Laura’s presence brought her, long enough to remember every single moment of agony spent in that damned coffin, to remember Ell, her lips and her skin and the way she felt writhing beneath her.

A little longer still she would have been able to imagine what Laura might have felt like, as well.

 

The blade blinds her. It lies in the pits of hell, something like a breath is stuck in her throat as she grasps the handle and as it moves the blade catches light, _where from,_ she wonders, and it blinds her.

But then, as she holds it tighter, as it burns brighter she realizes her heart is stone and her soul is slowly sipping out of her, and if she didn’t regret drowning after going on for so long she’d _laugh_. She wants to find whoever created the sword and tell them it should have been black instead; it should have destroyed everything in its presence instead of lightening it, absorb everything that’s _light_ and _hope_ and _going on_ , because her soul is not _shiny_.

Or maybe that was Laura’s light that entered her, Laura’s hope that warmed her insides, and the sword absorbed her soul only because Laura was there to give her one to begin with.

She despises the damned thing, but she grasps it tighter, pushes up against the enormity above her stronger, and refuses, _refuses_ going down without taking her demons along with her.

 

Laura’s there in the Dean’s office when she breaks down the door, dripping wet. She’s there with her gang of dimwits, enough stakes to build a camp fire.

Enough foolishness and bravery and hope in her eyes Carmilla almost breaks down and cries.

 

Mother is still seated, watching everyone with the same expression she wore when Carmilla dragged her for the tenth time to see _Othello._ Boredom mostly, but somehow still mildly interested to witness the development of events.

Laura turns her head and she’s so surprised to see Carmilla standing there mighty sword and all, Carmilla _really cries_ this time. It’s not much, it’s gone in the next moment, but she feels forgiveness wrap around her like a blanket, or no, not like a blanket, _like an armor,_ and it’s with that armor she manages to lunge forward and drive the sword right through her mother’s chest.

They’re face to face now, Carmilla and the Dean, but it’s not her mother’s steely eyes staring back at her, it’s Ell’s, and really it’s such a pathetic last effort Carmilla rolls her eyes.

And she gasps, and falls to the ground, as venom shots up her arm and spreads throughout her body. She manages to turn her head and she sees with satisfaction how Mother turns to ashes before her eyes.

 Laura rushes forward, kneels next to her, shakes her shoulders. She’s not watching the devil anymore, she’s watching redemption and love and sacrifice cry angrily in front of her.

_Stupid, stupid vampire_ , sweet words to her ears, they don’t remind her of home and of goodbyes, they are dooms and love declarations.

 

Laura kisses her as the liquid fire consumes her body. Her heart melts back down to flesh and something beautiful blooms inside her chest right before it’s consumed by the flames, and with a jolt she realizes her soul has been there the whole time, the sword didn’t capture it, didn’t need it.

It was kind; leaving her to die together with her most precious possession. Kind, indeed, the sword only needed her life, not her meaning.

Her meaning is hers to keep, her meaning by some grace of God is there holding her hand and brushing her bangs out of her eyes as her dead heart finally stops not beating.

_It’s not doom they write books about_ , she thinks hazily as the soft grasp she had on Laura’s hand finally goes slack, _it’s salvation._

 


End file.
